Before Her Bed the Moon Shines Bright
by Allekha
Summary: She is born half-dead. She grows up a princess. She dies a spirit. Yue's life and afterlife, in four seasons.


A/N: Written for ambyr for Everywoman 2015. Title stolen (and slightly changed) from Li Bai's famous _Thoughts on a Still Night_.

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In the summer the Northern Water Tribe rejoices under the midnight sun: the chief's wife is pregnant, and a royal heir will soon be born. People make idle bets as to whether it will be a prince or a princess and other minor details, but soon the chatter and gossip fade away as people return to their own lives.

For the chief and his wife, however, the baby is always on their minds. They think of it in the midst of meetings - how will these policies and decisions eventually affect their child? They think of it as they have their bedroom rearranged, fitted out with things to care for a newborn. They think of it when the sun once again draws below the horizon and they pray to the moon and ocean for their child's health.

One day a priestess from the Northern Water Temple arrives, trembling. In tow is another priest who the chief has met several times before, unable to speak at first. The chief's wife feels her throat close with dread on the sight of them. This priest is one who has visions.

Eventually, over cups of tea, the priest tells, haltingly, of the vision he has seen. The child will be born very, very ill. Ill enough to die, perhaps. Or, perhaps not. He has not seen whether the baby will live or die; this could mean, he suggests, the faint edges of hope on his words, that fate is not yet decided, and the baby can be saved.

In the months after the priest's visit, they pray often, and the chief works hard to distract himself from worry, and his wife looks after her health meticulously and takes care of every old wive's tale, and when they sleep they see both a tiny boat at sea and a laughing toddler.

The baby is born in the late fall - she is not quite a winter child. True to the prophet's vision, she is born ill, blue-toned and listless. The best healers in the tribe are at the bedside when she is born, and immediately they set out doing everything they can.

But what they can is very little.

She refuses to nurse. Her qi is sluggish and not quite regular, but they cannot seem to set it right. Medicines seem to have no effect on her. Her mother holds her close, not letting her tears fall beyond her eyelashes. The chief never leaves her and the child.

When at last after days the healers give up, their eyes sunken and hands shaking with exhaustion, pity on their expressions, there is but one thing left to do. The mother is weak, but the chief helps her stand and walk. They share no words except those of comfort, for they both know where they are going. The baby in their arms is still and silent - she has yet to utter a single cry - with her eyes laid shut as they have been since she was born, her breath shallow. She is not asleep; she is fading.

They take her to the oasis and lower her into the water lit silver by the full moon. And then together they pray, as hard as they can, for the spirits to save her.

A miracle happens. Her soft black hair bleaches slowly white - no, silver. She opens her eyes again, and this time they are only wide and blank for a split second. Then they scrunch up and she begins to cry as loudly as any child.

Tears running down her cheeks, the mother scoops her up and offers her a breast. The chief and his wife sob as she begins to nurse and they murmur her name between gasps for breath. They had never quite decided on one before, but of course they call her Yue.

By the time the Avatar and his friends appear in the latter part of the winter, Yue has grown into a model princess. The people love her, her grace and polite smile and how she is not so distant from them. They bow to her when she passes in the street, smile when she drifts by in her boat, and treat her with real friendliness when she appears in their shops.

Her parents never have another child, but they are proud to bursting of Yue. What more could they want from a daughter? She is dutifully and studious; she is beautiful and has good handwriting. She knows her history, watches her father closely to learn of politics, and carries out her prayers. If she has learned to hide herself under a gentle façade, if she gazes despairingly at the moon for nights after being engaged, looking to her namesake for a hint of solace before dropping her head and reminding herself of her duty to her people, well. She does not need them to know about it.

The visit from the Avatar - no, his friends - no, his friend the Southern Water Tribe boy - has her violating what seem like half her lessons. She feels guilty when she returns to her chambers after meeting with him, but he makes her heart beat fast and her attention focus in way that she knows her fiance never, ever will. She should not do this. She should put on a kind face and let him down softly. She does not.

She thinks of how he is the son of a chief and how their peoples need rejoining and maybe, maybe, if something happens to happen to her fiance-

She tries not to carry the false hopes for long.

And none of it is meant to be. The Fire Nation is ruthless and steadfast and strong, and when _that man_ tortures the moon spirit - the one she has watched for so many years swim in its peaceful cycle, the one that _gave her a life_ \- the first rage Yue has let herself feel in a long time bubbles up. When he lets it go she feels a moment of pure relief. When he lights the pond with fire and things move dizzyingly fast, she only feels emptiness in her chest.

She has never known such misery and despair as this. Not when her beloved tutor died after a painful illness. Not when she was engaged to Hahn. Not when she first started to understand the meaning of her history lessons, that beyond her beautiful home city the world was at war, and people died, and unless a miracle occurred and the Avatar returned she would never get to see it.

She wants to live. She wants to be with the person she likes. She wants to see her parents. But her people need her, and the world needs her in a different way. There is no question of what to do in her mind. When she lays her hand on the limp, cold body of the moon spirit and lets her life flow out, she does not feel regret, only the determination to fix things. To restore balance.

Yue falls away.

Things flash before her eyes - a swamp, warm and humid, a dark cave, and endless ocean she floats on top of. A laughing, gentle partner that she has always danced with, since the beginning of all things. The slide of water around her curving, elegant body as they push and pull, give and take.

Who is she? She is Tui. She is Yue. She is a small rocky sphere in infinite space, reflecting light on a shining blue marble.

Yue opens her eyes, floating. She sees the boy she loves and remembers how to say good-bye.

It takes time to learn how to be a spirit, and time now blurs and becomes less distinct the more she learns. But she thinks, when she looks down and through the world and sees the Avatar (it takes longer to remember his name) in despair, La trying to keep him afloat, that maybe it is spring now. In the Northern Water Tribe they would be preparing to gather summer berries, singing while mending holes in baskets and drying tea.

But the Avatar is not there in the north, he is despairing, and the world needs him. The world that she watches now, as a fish and a rock and a spirit in the night. She must not let anything happen to him. She must help him remember hope. Her own memories take effort to drag up, but she has them: the boy rolling in the grass, the way he settled into a meditative pose, the brightness of his glowing tattoos. Even in the face of an army, he had hope then.

She remembers secondly the ripples caused by his birth and the way he was frozen for such a long time. The knowledge fights with the way he looked after coming back from destroying ships and the way the hum left his body when he meditated. She looks at him as the rock and then as her spirit-form and sees him and sees Raava and sees that he is lost and tired and in great need.

It is difficult to remember proper words at first but she does so, comes down from the heavens in her spirit-form and talks to him. She reminds him of his power and urges him to not give up on it. Yue is pleased to see his eyes light with determination again.

She pulls from La and helps fling him back on his path, watching him as the rock as he sails onward. As Tui she hopes he will be able to restore balance to the world, set right everything that has happened, everything that has left the spirits tittering with worry. As Yue, she knows he will.

She floats back to the heavens, for a moment the rock and then a spirit again, hovering in a bank of celestial clouds. Birds she does and does not have names for fly past, some with several pairs of wings, some with faces like cats, one streaming fire. It is pretty, but it is not the same. Tui wants to see if the humans need help; Yue wants to see if the Avatar and his friends (and her parents and her people) are alright.

Yue closes her eyes and opens them back in the sky, floating in the reflected light of the far-off rock. Below her she sees a flying bison with a familiar group of people on it, and she makes the ocean shine a bit brighter in the direction of a small volcanic island.


End file.
